The Magician
by sophsophsophsoph
Summary: "You will come to understand my situation. You will fall in love before you die, and this shall be more painful than your death." Henry wanders through a world where the past, present and future are becoming increasingly blurred. He isn't used to things being out of his control. Eventual Henry/Robin. Rated M for bad language and violence !
1. Chapter 1

**The Magician**

Time travel makes life complicated. Henry wanders through a world where the past, present and future are becoming increasingly blurred. He isn't used to things being out of his control. Eventual Henry/Robin, Libra/Robin and a few others.

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own _Fire Emblem: Awakening_ or any of its characters.

Rated M for bad language and violence !

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 **1.**

Ellis Langley lumbered through the forest, clutching his leather jacket tightly to himself. It was one of the coldest nights of the winter, and even here, under the shelter of thick pines, the wind bit like a snarling dog. Ellis was a well built, dark tower of a man, who worked in the mines during the day and fathered three children on mornings and evenings. He hated the snow. It had killed his wife many years ago, and he fumed with every step he took, every footprint he left, screwing up his square jaw with an irrational anger at nature, the gods, and in particular, the forsaken youth he was looking for. The wood was getting blacker, so Ellis began to squint and wade faster. He had to calm down, or he'd be crushing the little shits head with his raw hands on first sight of him.

A crow cawed somewhere close, and he flicked around to see where it had come from. There in the tree top, was the silhouette of a few black birds, fluttering and eyeing him down. He was close to the bastard then. The crows flew across him to another branch, and seemed to wait for his approach before they set off again. He followed as they led him to a clearing, lit shades of grey in the light of a waning moon. As his eyes began to re-adjust, Ellis could forge a small lamp a few feet before him, and a shadowy figure emitting grunts of effort. There was the sick little bitch he was after. Only the Gods knew what he was doing in the woods this late at night.

'Henry!' Ellis called out, trundling over to the dim lamp. 'Henry!'

He stood over the youth, who was curled over the rotting carcass of a doe, sawing at her leg-bone, blood and grime coating his hands, and freckling his pale face. As always, he was surrounded by a flock of birds.

'Ellis?' Henry responded, still hacking away at the bone with a small saw. 'Can I help you?'

'W-what the hell are you doing? Did you-?'

'Kill this? Ahahah! Nah. Wolves got her. It was amazing ! Actually, quite savage, they-'

'Spare me. I don't have time for this. You need to come with me and quickly. One of those dead armies are out in the fields ! The goatherd saw them advancing toward the village, but they're massacring our flocks now. The men are holding them back but we need all the help we can get—before- before they reach the village.' Ellis poured his fears out, leaning on his knees for support. He wondered if he'd run out of time. It'd taken him a good twenty minutes to get this far into the wood, and it'd be at least another ten back. The Risen were slower than live soldiers, but that did not mean time could be wasted.

Henry stopped the sawing and turned his silver eyes onto the miner, smirking. The man had children. Friends. He'd watched his wife and brother and parents die. He supposed, then, Ellis Langley had every logical and emotional reason to worry about a battalion of Risen approaching his village, and every reason to fear death. He must have watched it so many times, and still he feared it. Henry Wootten, however, had watched and administered death so many times, and still it remained a delicious mystery.

Ellis disliked Henry. This creepy youth had turned up in the village tavern a year ago, chugging ale with the men and making bawdy jokes at the women- which seemed to pass as flirting due to his youth and cheery demeanor. It was like he'd known them for years, despite having sat in the room for only an hour. A dark mage, a Plegian army defector was who he'd said he was. He'd come looking for a room, and hadn't left since they'd given him one. He'd spent a year following the hunters and physicians around, obsessed with death and medicine. He gave out odd potions and advice. He stole and wrecked the hearts of young maidens, and even a few of the other young men. According to rumor, Nicolas Steele, a clerk in the monastery, was lovesick for Henry Wootten. The other monks said he had been cursed, but Steele insisted it was not so.

Ellis believed the monks. He thought Henry was arrogant, and too effeminate for his liking. Perhaps his ex-army status had earned him the respect of the villagers, or perhaps they were just afraid of his witchcraft. Perhaps they couldn't see the filthy memories, the pleasure killings and pain that hid behind his constant smile. Henry wasn't amiable, he was false. Ellis was sure he wasn't the only one of his neighbors to find the boys puns and potions irritating. He was sure he wasn't the only one who knew about the illegal, addictive powders he'd cooked up and sold to men for smoking in their pipes. Three of them now slept in the street thanks to this evil bastard. Three of them, once providers, good minds and great miners, driven insane by the pipes this mage had sold them. Not to mention the amount of bird shit on their roofs these days.

Now the slattern was grinning at him. Ellis would deck Henry in his pretty nose if only he weren't absolutely necessary for destroying cursed soldiers.

'Another Risen army you say? Hm. Haven't seen them in a while. Are their visits getting more frequent though? I'm not sure.' Henry said. 'I've been researching them though. I need to find-'

'Henry.' Ellis urged. 'We don't have time for this.'

'Alright alright. Snap this out for me and I'll get rid of the big scary Risen for you. Deal?'

Ellis was close to losing it, but he pushed the kid aside and focused his anger into ripping out the doe-bone in a single move. Henry giggled, pleased when the thing was shoved into his hands.

'Wow ! That was so cool! Are you sure you need my help?'

Ellis wasn't. It was too late now.

They ran out to outskirts of the village, where the remaining Risen were advancing. One of the guards had shot an arrow at the foremost solider. Although it had hit him in the forehead, the Risen carried on forwards, shrieking a wordless threat.

'Ellis ! Henry !' The guardsman saw them approach. 'They got four of us. They're strong.'

Henry scanned the field. Twenty Risen remaining. Five successfully killed. Four village men drawn back, ten still able to fight, but were only chipping away with pitchforks and weak swords. These men were not skilled fighters, but they could distract their opponents long enough to stay away from their families.

'Alright.' Henry nodded. 'Don't follow me!'

He ran into the field, already reciting a foreign language. Ellis and the guardsman exchanged a glance as the mage took out a knife hidden somewhere within his black robes, and made a small incision in his finger. He waited, not too long, for a Risen to reach him. Before he got attacked, he ducked, wedging the knife between some of the grey exposed ribs of his opponent. The body caught fire, as well as three more around it. Henry killed Risen the most gruesome way he could; by melting their skin off of their bones with a flaming curse. The stench was putrid; it was the smell of rot and decease twice over.

'Have some _death._ ' He could be heard saying through a clenched jaw. The shrieks of the undead soldiers distracted the others from the village men. Henry turned to push one back with an Elwind spell, tired out from his first cast. He was panting, watching two on horses make their way toward him. There were three coming up behind him. He did not seem to notice. The guard fired more arrows, at least as a distraction. Ellis unhooked a large knife from the inside of his jacket and ran in, slashing at the chest of one of the un-armoured ones. It was useless. The thing turned and screamed in Ellis' face, opening its jaw wide enough to show the lawns that grew on its teeth, and the saliva that dripped off them. Ellis was shocked, but managed to wedge the knife into the back of its head so it dropped to the floor, maroon blood leaking out of its skull.

'Henry ! Look behind you, you idiot bastard !' He yelled, but said bastard wasn't listening. His eyes were unfocused as he muttered something, the Risen behind him was meanwhile raising a sword to stab into his back. Ellis leapt in, pushing away the Risen, the sword a hair-width from his face. For some reason, the deamon warrior was lighter than Ellis had expected. He seemed to have gained a lot of strength- no – he realized he too was being pushed- a strong, quick force drew him away from Henry and on to the Risen, both of them ending up in a shivering, bleeding heap on the hillside. Ellis felt himself gag. He was calling out in pain. His front was covered in the blood of the unconscious enemy, but his back felt as if someone had just ripped the skin clean off. It felt exposed, cold and prickly, as if being raked raw. He was in an indescribable pain. He did not think that his skin could ever be thirsty. He needed water, and he needed ice. The heat on his back was excruciating, but every pulse of blood that washed over it momentarily relieved him.

'ELLIS !' He heard the voices of Kelvin Greene, the butcher, Rager Valdorne, the tavern landlord, and Henry Wootten, the one who had cursed him. Ellis could not speak.

'He's hurt. He's hurt so bad.'

'What the fuck, Henry? His back is torn apart, he'll bleed out.'

Henry stared at shredded miner. He knelt down beside him and dipped his fingers in one of the pools of blood that were forming on the grass, rubbing his fingertips together as if they were swirling in a fine wine.

'I told him,' He said softly, 'Not to follow me.'

Ellis gagged again.

'He was protecting you !'

'Take him to the clerics, quickly. They can seal up the wound and he'll be okay if he hasn't lost too much blood.' He continued, a smile in his voice as he assessed the amount of blood on the field. The curse he'd used had taken out the five Risen that had surrounded him, and weakened the others. The hillside now ran red with torn skin and fluid. For Henry, it was the most beautiful sight. He'd created artwork beside the candles of the village. Unfortunately, it had taken out a respected member of the community with it.

'The fool.' He sighed. 'He'll be alright, if you hurry.'

Sometimes, he supposed, one needed to spend blood to spill blood. The civilians often forgot that. He walked back to the gate with them, watching Mr. Ellis Langley, a tall dark tower of a man, who convulsed as he was carried home.

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 **A/N: Thankyou for reading ! Let me know what you think.**

I decided to write about Henry as an exercise in creative writing/ description; which is why this chapter looks the way it does. Somehow this short piece developed into a longer one with a few chapters, so I've decided to put it up online, because why not?

He is the character I find most interesting in FEA, and I hope this fic develops him a bit more.

I chose the title 'The Magician' because it is a tarot card meaning new beginnings, things changing, and also can be the central figure in a reading. Reversed, it means trickery and illusion. I guess that's Henry/This story ! I also have given a few people surnames because I think you gotta have longer names in a medieval/fantasy/village setting.


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

'Heard you fucked Ellis.'

The next day, Natalia Redgrave approached Henry Wootten in the high street, wearing her usual sneer.

'Heard you did too.' He retorted. She smiled despite herself.

She was a southern woman in her late twenties, ten years younger than Ellis Langley at least, and it was said she was his lover, despite being married to one of the farmers. She was typically snide, always strutting around with an air of sophistication that none of the other wives had- but then, no others owned the biggest house and the most land in the area. She was married off to the eldest Redgrave son in profit to her father. She'd been an unwanted child. A seer, who saw things and did not hold her tongue. She had a dangerous figure, that Henry, in all truth, could not resist. Her lips were a bloodstain on her tan face. He liked looking at her.

'Tell me what happened.' She said.

'You must have seen.' Henry replied.

'Unfortunately, even I can't see everything.' Natalia did not mind admitting her weaknesses. 'I did hear he jumped in front of you to save you. Is it true?'

'Yes.' He would have elaborated further, but the ginger boy from The Rose Tavern had come jogging over to interrupt.

'Mr Wootten ! Father suspects you have a visitor- I-in the Tavern.' He said.

'He… _suspects?_ Isn't he sure?' Henry asked the boy.

'I don't know, Mr. Wootten. He said to get you.'

Henry paused, trying to figure out who could have Risen from the past to haunt him. He was sure he'd not spoken to his ex-comrades since he'd defected from the Plegian army.

'Henry.' Natalia's voice was low. 'You shouldn't go.'

'Why not?'

'It sounds like a doppelganger. You should not talk to him. It's a bad omen…'

'Excellent.' Henry smirked. She sighed.

'I warned you. But check on Ellis for me will you, please? Tell me how he is doing later. And be sure to thank him, _and_ apologize.' She added, backing away from them as the boy tugged at Henry's sleeve. He agreed, and followed the child into _The Rose_.

Rager Voldorne, the landlord, was waiting for his boy and the mage by the back door. He was a bald, cheery man, with a nose and cheeks wizened into cherries from his drinking habit. He led them inside, then had them crouch behind the bar.

'This guy came in. Said he's lookin for his family.' Rager whispered.

'Right-o.' Henry whispered back.

'Problem is, he says he hasn't seen them in weeks. Says he lost them. Says he banged his head in a fall or somethin and can't quite remember them. A traveler. Come a long way from home. Says he don't even know where home is.'

'Right..o..'

'Wootten. You take a look up there and tell me that aint your twin brother or somethin.' Rager gestured up to the counter. Henry rose slowly with him and the boy, so the three of them were looking in the relatively empty pub room. Aside from the old regulars, there sat a young man by the fire, shrouded in a grey cape that looked too big for him, milling over a thick book, with a smile and a mug of tea. His hair was the same chalk blonde as Henry's. His demeanor had the same optimism, and his profile had the same hooked nose.

Henry accidently coughed, and the three of them shot down behind the bar again before the traveler saw them.

'Why would he be related to me?' Henry asked.

'What? Are you kidding? Don't you see it ! He could be your twin !'

'He has the same haircut. But he's not my twin…'

'You haven't seen your family in ages, and neither has he! Just a coincidence? Go over there and find out dammit.'

'Excuse me.' A new voice entered the conversation, making the three of them jump. Above them was the traveler with his mug, looking down at them all as he leant over the counter. 'Could I please have some more tea?'

Rager got up. 'You heard him Henry. Pour some tea.'

'What ! I don't-'

Halfway through his protest, Henry was handed a hot kettle and then was pouring tea for the tourist, whilst scrutinizing him. He said thankyou, and looked up as he did. The two met eyes, and were silent. Henry could feel Rager observing them from across the bar. The traveler was younger than him, and shorter, but not that much. He had hazel eyes, the likes of which Henry had never seen before. They were unusually bright. Not like his. Henry figured he wouldn't have forgotten them if he'd met this boy before.

'You…' The traveler murmured. 'I…remember you.'

'You do? Or are you just… tea-sing me?' He hoped a pun would break the ice, but the traveler only frowned.

'I think I do? I remember…. you calling my name…' He raised an index finger. 'I recognize your laugh.'

The mage's smile morphed into a more confused one. 'Sorry… I don't think we've met.' He told him.

'No…? Maybe I'm just confused. I suppose I should be more skeptical. I'm still very lost.' Was the response. 'Welp. Thankyou for the tea. Have a nice day.'

The traveler sat back down at his place by the fire, and continued to read his book. Henry turned back and shrugged at Rager.

'We don't know each other.' He said.

Natalia's house was very comfortable. She had thick rugs, glittering knick-knacks and flower vases everywhere, all of which were outlined in orange as the sun set. It was sinking into the hill-side now, captured in the frame of her large front windows. She was wrapped up in a mahogany dress which stuck to her form. Henry kept his eyes steady on her face, telling her about his encounters this afternoon with the traveler and Ellis. She did not laugh at any of his jokes.

' _People think she's bitter because of the future she has seen.'_ Ellis had told Henry, as he lay in his recovery bed. Henry had apologized and then mentioned that Natalia had been asking after him. ' _That's only half of it, really.'_

' _Oh no ! What has she seen?'_

' _Awful things. How this world ends. The deaths of all of us. She says there's nothing anyone can do about that, I suppose. But please tell her that I am okay. Tell her not to worry about me.'_

Ellis' three children were sleeping beside him. It did not look comfortable in that small space. Shouldn't he send them back to their house ? He was going to survive, so they needn't worry. They were hogging the sheets from their recovering father. Children looked like an inconvenience, and they were dirty.

Henry could not recall a time when he'd slept in his parents bed. He'd had a cold, mute nanny, and some cruel teachers. He remembered his mother drinking by a fireplace and his father sitting at a desk. There were no other images that came to mind. Women had only clung to his heels and prevented him from moving forward until he shook them off. All of his other friends were Plegian soldiers who did not so much as shake hands.

'I'm glad Ellis is safe now.' Natalia said.

'Why don't you visit him?'

'My husband…' She looked towards the door, '…wouldn't want that. It's too suspicious.'

'It's not hard to lie, you know. I do it all the time ! It's very useful. You don't have to tell Mr. Redgrave you went to visit Ellis at all! I can keep a secret. I have the power to help you. I could take you there and guard the door, if you wanted. I can make you invisible. Or we could swap bodies. ' Henry chirped, with an extended finger and a self assured expression.

Natalia's face relaxed slightly. 'Oh Henry. You wouldn't understand. Love is difficult. But thankyou.'

'What makes you think I've never been in love?'

She ignored his question. 'If there's anything I can do for you, please let me know. I've forgiven you a little bit now I know Ellis will be okay…'

They talked some more about the mundane facts of village life as the evening passed, and it wasn't until he was standing in the doorway on his way out that he was inspired.

'Tell me my future.' He said suddenly. 'Please ! Ellis said you can see a person's death. What happens to me, in the end?'

Natalia was taken aback, but she agreed.

'The future isn't always definite…' She explained. 'But I have see your death before, and it is always the same. I couldn't see Ellis getting hurt, because though a unit of Risen can be predictable in the way they attack, they choose their victims quite irrationally. But yes. Your death is always the same. I can always see it.'

'…Is it bloody?' Henry leaned in. 'Tell me. I want it to be gory, and in battle !'

'It is. Don't worry.' She smirked. 'It's quite a scene. I was scared for you the first time I saw it.'

'Ahaha ! Awesome ! ' He grinned widely, then took her hand and kissed it. 'Thankyou Nat!'

As he did this, her facial features went limp. He concentrated on her as she scanned the pathway by their feet, then slowly looked up.

'…Did you want to know any more? Your touch showed me something else.'

'Oh yeah?'

'Henry…' A smile threatened at her cheeks. 'You will come to understand my situation. You will fall in love before you die. You will fall in love with someone, many times over, and this is ultimately what causes you the most grief.'

He dropped her hand. For the first time in a long time, his insides squirmed. He felt a sense of dread that moved in a wave from his stomach to his throat, and flushed through his head.

'More painful than a death on the battlefield?' He asked timidly.

Natalia nodded, and then chuckled, as watching his pale face turn pink delighted her. He stepped away from the house, mumbling some awkward thankyous and goodbyes. She watched him stumble down the road.

'Oh, Wootten!' She called. He turned. 'Where-ever you're going tomorrow, it'd be best to go north. Have a safe journey.'


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

Henry was back in the forest, hacking away at any carcass the wolves left over. The fight with the Risen had distracted him, although it was not a waste of time. He had several fresh limbs now - all he needed was a few more animal ones for control purposes, and, for excellent experimentation, a few human ones, but no-one in the village had any reason for an amputation recently. The bones and ores he collected were useful for making cheap and specific tools for operating. He'd given these inventions to the physicians in exchange for their knowledge and access to their books, so he needed to make more. This would require the help of the blacksmith, and he only traded in gold. Therefore, Henry knew he needed to make and sell more potions. There was one thing he knew he could make money from for certain, but he needed to find some poppies. Those men in the village weren't going to get their inebriations without his help. He wondered if they even had any more money to throw at him.

The elk's antler finally broke off, and dust coated the back of Henry's hand and the saw. He blew it away and opened the bag on his back. Generally, he carried everything important in here. For now, he had a few tomes, seed for the birds, a flask of red-wine, a flask of blood- if he had a dime for every time he got those two mixed up – various bones and ores, some of which were made into worn out scissors, carved pipes and rusting knives. The Risen limbs were back in his room.

 _Where-ever you're going tomorrow, it'd be best to go north. Have a safe journey._

Natalia's voice had a bad habit of sticking in his mind, along with the rest of her. He had been hoping all night that what she had predicted for him yesterday was wrong. Yet, to wish for that, would also be to wish for a boring death. His fantasy was to die drenched in his own blood; feeling the pain of his life draining slowly. It would be serene, and peaceful- a warm bath after a hard day's work, and he would finally know the mysteries of death and life. Before then, he'd planned to unlock the secrets of the Risen army- unveil their magic and then command a fleet or five of his own, more gruesome and terrible than ever before. He would be the dark mage the world strove to beat down. He would die a magnificent death, staining the history books with his schemes. His notes would be studied by students for centuries to come- his philosophies controversial and his likeness painted beside depictions of hell. The spells and hexes he'd perfected over the years had given him control of everything- the wind, the rain, the blood of another, and until now, his own fate.

Worrying about the whims of some pretty thing he fancied was not part of the plan.

He thought about this whilst pouting into the thick trees. There were faint blades of sunlight drifting through the forest cover. He could only make out impressions of his crows and ravens, quivering amongst themselves in the branches. As he speculated where to go next, he realized the entire murder were sitting in trees that surrounded an overgrown, old pathway through the forest that he had never seen before. The nearest to him cawed. He held out his hand, and it landed there, flitting its head to and fro to meet his eye.

'And I'm guessing this path leads north?' He asked it. It squawked, and flew on to join its fellows in that direction. 'Of _caws_ it does.'

The crows, though under his command, had always been a source of guidance for Henry. He had never been much of a seer at school, but he'd always found counting the birds out on the lawn was his favorite method of divination. If someone ever stole them from him, they may as well have cut out his eyes and ears. The thought of having his eyes cut out entertained him as he followed the pathway, chatting to the birds and scattering seed as a treat for them.

'Now, now !' He chided the two that fought over a walnut in the pathway. 'Play nice.' He took up the walnut and picked it apart, dropping the pieces amongst a rabble before him. 'There is plenty here for all of you.'

The path was long, and around half an hour of walking later, Henry heard the screech of a wyvern in the distance. It wasn't too far away, and he hadn't heard one in maybe two years. Not since his last battle with the army. Most of them were domesticated these days, and most belonged to a solider.

'Did you hear that?' He asked the nearest crow, holding a hand out for it to perch on. It did so, and only blinked. Suddenly, the crows and a ravens swarmed around him, and he held out both his arms, letting himself become enveloped by them. They were making a racket, and he had to tell them to calm down, and to speak one at a time.

There was an army, they said. A group of people- campers- were surrounded by an army of Risen - and not just stray-walkers like those who attacked the village. These had wyverns, horses, archers, and a commander. The group were trapped in the valley, and they did not know it.

'Then I guess we should go tell them.' Henry decided, raising his hands so that the swarm covered him, and led him to where blood was about to be spilt.

The clearing in the valley had become muddied with heavy footprints, strewn with corpses and wet with blood. Henry's heart was racing, possibly faster than it should have been. Not only had he the joy of slaying Risen today, but he had watched his new friends at their most vulnerable. This group were odd; they were mismatched, unregimented, and creative in their killings. They said they were called _The Shepherds_ , a battalion Henry had heard about during his time in the Plegian army, notorious for slaughter, and led by the infamous Chrom, Exhalt IV of Ylisse, who took command after his elder sister's death. Henry hadn't realized he'd been fighting alongside a former enemy, yet a raven landed on his shoulder, and whispered something about belonging here in his ear. When it was over, he knelt in a bloody puddle, catching his breath and examining his own reflection. Someone had kicked him in the nose, and he hadn't noticed during the fight. He dabbed it in awe, letting beads of red slip down his white fingers. It'd been quite some time since his last battle. He was rusting.

'Thankyou for helping us.' A voice he'd grown accustomed to hearing over the last hour appeared behind him. It was the tactician. Within minutes of introducing himself to Captain Chrom, this beauty had beckoned him to her side. She was tall with sleepy eyes and long ashen hair. She was wrapped in a large cloak bearing the colours of the court of Plegia. What was this Plegian noble doing, he had thought, fighting alongside Exalt Chrom VI of Ylisse? Was she a fellow defector? One who had been so inspired by former Exalt Emmeryn's suicide that she too had questioned all the motives of her home country and switched sides? Henry had known a few. All fanatical, all hopeful, not a bone of cynicism within them. They were the irritating sort.

However, after watching this woman cleave an entire armored Risen in half, painting herself with his organs and not even flinching, Henry decided he should talk to her.

'My name is Robin.' She said. 'I didn't mean to yell at you so much out there. It is my job, though.'

He learned that she had lost her memory, and this battalion- named 'The Shepherds'- had found her. In exchange for her story, Henry told her his.

'…I picked out a lung first, because that starves the brain of air- but they're also my favorite organ to touch, truth be told.' He was halfway through cheerfully describing the first time he'd cut a corpse open, when he noticed some other of her comrades had come to listen, intrigue plain on their faces. Robin interrupted.

'I'm sorry- Henry, was it?- Chrom- our captain- I think he needs to talk to me.' Her voice was gentle

He followed her gaze to a bridge over the valley where Exhalt Chrom and a Pegasus knight- Henry assumed it was Queen Sumia- and a young woman were talking. He noticed the tactician's face looked more concerned than it had been on the battlefield. Her eyes were lined or bruised with purple, and were hidden under blunt bangs. They were an unusual set; hazel; sharp. He was sure he wouldn't forget them. Despite her evident intelligence, she looked as if she'd believe anything she was told. Easily manipulated. Easily scared. Some dangerous traits for a tactician to have. He wondered if his disappointment at her early departure was too clear on his face, because as she left, a red-headed solider clapped him on the back.

'Don't worry about her. She's a too preoccupied with the war effort for any real conversation these days.' He said.

'Oh.'

'But I reckon that the rest of us would be interested to hear how that grim story of yours ends, Junior. Comon. I'll take you to our camp.'

'Oh Gaius!' The blonde lady next to him nudged him in the belly with her parasol. 'That's _not_ a proper introduction. And frankly, _Sir,'_ She turned to Henry, 'nor are your vile stories. Now. My name is Maribelle Middlestone, and _unfortunately,_ this unrefined swine is my husband, Gaius.' She offered her hand – gloved, ringed, delicate – Henry pecked it, careful of his bloodied nose.

'Unrefined swi-' Gaius protested, but Maribelle hushed him. Henry studied the two of them. They were a couple. They had been fighting to protect each other on the battlefield. The red-head, Gaius, carried various knives, blades and swords. He was dressed in shades of black and grey, whereas his wife seemed to be dolled in pink and white beneath her armor. The wife did not like awkward silences, and began to introduce three more soldiers who had been listening to Henry's tales.

'This is my dear friend, Princess Lorissa of Ylisse, our cleric, sister of-'

'Maribelle, I'm sure he's heard. Call me Lissa. You've heard of my brother and sister, yes?' She was another sweet blonde. Princess Lorissa looked exactly like her pictures, as did the other royalty who were conversing with the tactician on the bridge. He gazed at the princess. Clear skin, aside from beauty marks here and there, rounded features. Lace hairpiece, yellow dress. She hadn't taken part in any physical combat, she had the smooth hands of a lady. Her staff suggested she had been trained as a cleric.

'I've heard, yes.' Henry mumbled, mystified by all the introductions. 'You're prettier than your pictures say.' He ignored the blood-rush of her cheeks. He tended to have that effect on women. He did note the princess' bodyguard though, a tall silent swordsman who seethed with jealousy at such a comment.

'Oo let me fix your nose-' Lissa said, already stepping forward to swab it with a handkerchief she had to hand. 'Lon-Qu- This is Lon-Qu- get me a tonic, please.' She addressed her body-guard, then turned her attention back to Henry. 'You were fantastic out there.' She smiled. 'I saw you ! You were terrifying- truly a force I was glad to have on our side.' Lissa looked up at him, lowering his head so his eyes levelled with hers. He could not help but smile back- deciding that she was as cute and as eager as a puppy.

No sooner had the thought entered his mind, he felt that sinister aura from Lon-Qu intensify. How interesting. The odds of a princess marrying her bodyguard were few, and this hefty man was inevitably going to be ruined because of it. Henry fed on the petty tragedies of others- the village he'd just come from had been rife with them. It seemed this group had theirs too.

'You shall have to meet our other mages- Tharja and Ricken. I know they were both impressed with you today. You'd be great friends, even with Tharja ! She's that girl lurking over there, see?' Lissa waved to a woman standing in the background, watching from behind a tree. She scowled. Henry also waved. He recognized her, he was sure, from years ago, possibly from school, or the army. She was a fellow dark mage. He told the princess.

'That's fantastic ! You're going to fit in here, I'm sure.'

Gaius laughed and Maribelle told him to be quiet.

'Now I've finished cleaning up, but your nose is broken,' Lissa said, 'I can fix that though. Don't move. This might hurt-'

Henry grew a cocky smile. 'Oh don't worry your highness,' He said, 'I don't feel pain very easily. I'll be alright.'

His audience looked at each other.

'How…' Gaius began.

'Fair enough.' Lissa said, and punched Henry in the face.

He faltered back. 'What-?' He called out in surprise, grasping his nose and looking up at the girl. 'Agh- shit-' He cried. 'What the hell?'

Lissa was immediately apologetic and helped him up. 'No no – I'm sorry- I needed to break it again- to restructure it- here-' She took her staff in one hand and held it by his face, beginning to tweak and rearrange his nose with her free hand. It was an itchy sensation. Meanwhile, the odd couple, Gaius and Maribelle, could not hold back their laughter.

''I feel no pain" he said ! ' Gaius choked out, holding his wife for support. Even the swordsman had broken into a small smile, as his jealousy was satisfied. Henry thought back to the village. He suspected there were a few there who'd have wanted the honor of punching him in the nose for his own good.

'I'm sorry to surprise you like that ! I thought I'd explained clearly. But it's okay now. Please forgive me!' Lissa said, stepping back.

Henry felt his nose. It was smooth and clean again.

'I'll get you some tonic to clear up the bruising though-'

'No its alright. Thankyou I guess. I like the-' He winced. '-the colours.'

Once Gaius had calmed himself down, he hung onto Henry's shoulders.

'Get your ravens, Junior, and come with us. Were all going drinking. You look like you could use one.'

'Alright.' Henry agreed. He smiled at his new acquaintances and followed them, still touching his nose, and even more bewildered than before. He felt queer, unsure of himself for the first time since he was a child, but safe. He'd met an army, fought with them, a princess had punched him in the nose and a rouge, henpecked by a courtly lady, had invited him to go drinking alongside the jealous swordsman. It'd been a tough day, he assumed he was just tired. He turned to summon the birds. As he did, he noticed they were all sat silently in the trees; several of them watching the group on the bridge.

Henry felt them transmitting a strange, overwhelming sensation from the bridge to him. The birds now looked at him, and the feeling got stronger for a moment. It felt like anxiety, a running current from the toes to the head. It felt like fear, heart palpitations and moist palms. It felt like nausea, it felt like breathing too much and breathing too little; the earth rotated around three points now and disoriented him. Henry glared back at the flock, telling them to stop it. He did not like whatever it was they were trying to tell him. He took a deep breath, shaking the sensation away, and called them. They surrounded him at once, breaking their transmissions. He followed the soldiers back to their camp.


	4. Chapter 4

**4.**

The shepherds could _drink._

This particular Risen battle had been the first in a while for them; now reunited after two years they had decided to celebrate. Some of them played instruments- fiddles, guitars, pipes; the liveliest music was played throughout the entire night to accompany various dances from the home towns and countries of all the people here. The camp was kept warm and lit by several fires. The flames cast sharp shadows and streaks of orange on nearby faces, turning them into carnival masks. There were crates of ale and wine- enough for every single shepherd to become sufficiently inebriated if he so chose. The whole area was full of friends, running about, laughing, shouting, chatting. It was surprising their volume didn't attract more enemies to the location.

Everyone Henry met told him their histories, and how they became a part of this army. Then later in the evening, the tales became more surreal. Stories of children from the future visiting their parents to be, legends of dragons and then victories against Plegia, memories and in-jokes, proposals and fights of the past, then scandals, exploits of gambling, whoring and hunting. Henry learned all of their lively folklore, but he was not sure he would remember all this new information if the man named Gregor did not stop topping up his wine when he wasn't looking. Mirabelle, the little courtly lady from this morning turned out to be a violent drunk, who had started ranting about something to a woman beside her, slamming her covered hands on a little wooden table they sat at. Her husband Gaius hoisted her up and carried her off to bed, shaking his head and apologizing. Later on, two powerful looking men- named Vaike and Gregor- got into a drinking match with something that was only to be poured in tiny glasses. What started as a friendly game quickly descended into a burlesque show of proving one's masculinity. When Vaike finally toppled over, Gregor got up too soon to celebrate his victory, and then he was also on the floor. A girl named Anna snuck around and through the audience, handing out the losses and wins of a betting business she'd set up in the meanwhile. She maneuvered like so much like a snake, one could almost see her having a forked tongue, flicking it out to sense if a man had loose change in his pockets. Finally, an authoritative figure named Fredrick stormed over, demanding that the whole enterprise be shut down. These people were a mess, and it was wonderful.

Captain Chrom was busy telling a story to a young woman sat at his knee, looking up at him with open admiration, their faces changing shape in the firelight. A violin began to play a familiar jig, and the other musicians joined in. Henry watched the tactician over at the other side of the circle; her form radiant by the flames. Her oversized coat had come off, to reveal a flattering pinstripe outfit. She'd taken off her heavy boots, allowing all to observe her sleek legs. She was sat beside a sallow-haired man, who kept a hand on her knee. He was statuesque, feminine, and Henry was told that he was a priest named Libra, who had a great darkness in his heart. Everyone knew he was sweet for Robin, but he did not want to dance, due to an injury in the battle earlier. He let go of her knee and she stood up, searching for another partner. She noticed Henry watching them, and came over.

'Mr. Wootten, I think you like what you have seen here. Have you decided to join us?' She slurred. She had been drinking plenty of wine, which was fantastic.

'Definitely.' Henry grinned.

'That's great news ! We should celebrate by dancing ! ' She cheered, holding out a hand to him. 'Do you recognize this song? I was told it is a Plegian dance. Do you know it?'

'Vaguely.' He took his cloak off, reached for her hand, and got up to join the others.

Robin looked back over at Libra, showing him her hand in Henry's. He nodded, and she turned back to join the dance.

It was a fast-paced and joyful dance. The shepherds lacked any kind of formality- it was more about having fun than presenting graces to society. Henry remembered having to learn these steps during his army days- when the soldiers would have fundraising or celebration events, and were required to ask debutants to dance with them. Back then they did things slower, so they could exercise tedious conversation with their partners. Outside by the firepit, dancing was done with more fervor than in those cold court halls. Robin had a simper as she moved, stepping inaccurately across the space. Despite not being the best dancer, Henry couldn't seem to stop watching her. She pulled him closer than the dance required, looking only at him as their hands entwined. As they cantered along, she nearly tripped past him, and he caught her by securing one of his arms around her waist. She looked up to him, her cheeks glowing quite prettily.

'Thanks.' She mouthed. Both caught their breath, then span in a circle, slower than the others. He contemplated her face. He had sensed something earlier, when they'd met, and then again when their hands had touched, she stirred the nerves in his skin. She didn't seem entirely as she looked. There was something about her that unsettled him- much like how the ravens and crows had unsettled him after the battle, but this time the feeling was gentler, perhaps even pleasant. He continued to asses her, struggling to work out what it was. Robin watched him watching her. She, like everyone else in the camp, was curious about the newcomer. Although he had already told many troubling stories from his past so openly, she was sure he had a thousand more secrets to tell.

When the dance was over, the other couples separated, and clapped the musicians. It took the two of them a few seconds longer to come out of glowering at each other.

'That was fun.' Henry said.

'I'm glad you enjoyed yourself.' Robin answered meekly, stepping away from him. He was still watching her as she did, and still gripping her hand. The fire snapped, and the noise of the dance had subdued.

'Oh. Sorry.'

He let it go. She gave him a small curtsey, and returned to the open arms of Libra.

Henry went back to where he had been sat before, only to find the other dark-mage, Tharja, had also been watching. She had put her usual book down, folded his cloak and was smoothing it in her lap, running her sharp fingernails across its gold collar.

'You sense something about her too, don't you?' She said, handing it back to him as he sat down. He turned to listen to her, and she acknowledged the curiosity in his face. 'No-one's cursed you, I sense it too. She makes me feel sick.'

'Is this only something we would know?' He asked, batting a hand to gesture to the book of hexes that sat between them.

'Maybe. Though I'm sure Chrom sensed it first. Maybe that's why I have to follow her…' Tharja trailed off, looking out into the party.

Henry was about to ask her where they'd met before when the rigid Knight, Ser Fredrick Morley, approached. He glanced sidelong at him. Another Authority Figure, the one who had shut down the gambling. The man looked as if he'd crushed a femur or two in his time. He looked like a man of rigour, one who had method, one who could be all strength and no stealth. He looked like someone had forced a pole up his rectum to replace his spine, and he'd asked for it, thinking it'd improve his posture. Gaius had said you'd be better off confessing your wrong-doings to a priest rather than to Fredrick Morley. He wore a spotless white shirt, tucked in and ironed. He knelt before Tharja, who didn't seem at all surprised. She rolled her eyes.

'My lady,' He addressed her. 'I humbly request the honour of your company this evening.'

'No.' Tharja answered.

Henry laughed.

'My lady…There is a lake nearby, lit with light of a thousand fireflies. I thought you'd like to see it.' He did not leave.

'Aren't you tired of me, Fredrick?'

'No, my lady. I don't think I shall ever tire of you.' He swallowed, still kneeling before her.

'What curse is this?' Henry asked, still amused at the man's behaviour.

'It's no curse, I can assure you.' Tharja stood up. 'Come on then, Fred. Show me the lake.' She sighed, stalking away. Fredrick got up, his modest demeanour turning into confidence. He winked at Henry.

'Looks like I'm in luck.' He said, following the witch. Henry wondered what motive Tharja might have for going somewhere alone with Fredrick. He would make an excellent guinea pig to practice hexes on- if he could be taken down, then anyone else could.

'Oy Junior !' Gaius called from the other-side of the camp. Henry got up, put his thoughts and theories aside, and went to join his new friends for the rest of the evening.

The winter mornings always stung. Sleet dusted the ground the next day, covering the blackened fire-pits from the night before. Henry did not mind temperatures below zero- in fact he almost preferred them. He did mind, however, when a bucket of bitter lake water was poured over him as he slept.

'N-naga ! W-wh-what is with you people-!?' He gasped, sitting straight up.

'Ahah! No pain my ass! That never gets old. See, Ricken. I told you he wasn't dead. You just needed to be more forceful. Look, he's all clean n' ready to go now.' Gaius was holding the bucket, standing beside Henry's new roommate, a small teenage mage named Ricken. Henry looked irritably at the bucket, and a white heat rose from the bottom through to the handle, burning Gaius. He dropped it on the floor of the tent, clutching the mark left on his right hand.

'Gah- _-_ you didn't have to brand me!' He whined.

'That mark will wear off if I decide to forgive you.' Henry said. 'Why did you wake me so early?'

'We have to get moving.' Ricken said, looking more apologetic than usual. 'We can't stay in one place for too long.'

The Shepherds travelled for hours. They had a few trailers and carriages, and were led by Chrom and Robin on horseback at the front. Henry had decided the group was split into two sorts; those who were kind, with pristine morals and good social graces, and those who were interesting. He sat in a rickety trailer at the back with the interesting sort- the drinkers, the gamblers.

'Three swords.' Gaius put down his hand.

'Four aces.' Mirabelle smirked, putting down hers.

Gregor's tough face became delicate. He only had two pentangles. Anna, the snake, declared Mirabelle the winner. 'Way to represent the ladies !' She chortled. 'Pay her up, boys.'

Henry lit a pipe and let the daydreams it induced wash over him. He didn't feel like playing cards. He looked out the window, watching the morning horizon bump along. One of the wheels on this carriage was thumbnail or so smaller in diameter. He could tell. They passed fields of sheep on the outskirts of forests full of wolves ready to attack them. Henry recalled a time where he had come face to face with a wolf. It was huge, grey and facing him. He remembered reaching out – slowly- to clench dregs of its matted fur. It was pleasant to feel his own pulse beating in his ears when opposite such a magnificent creature. To feel warm breath on his face and the rumble of another, bigger, heart. Jaws that could compress him into jelly, and teeth that could rip flesh from bone-

'Did you hear that Marth says she is actually from the future?' Anna asked, interrupting his pipe dream of being torn apart limb by limb. Henry put it out and turned to listen. 'She told Chrom she was his daughter on the bridge after the battle yesterday. Its just like the legends say. She's here to guide us.'

'Sounds like a lot of bullshit to me. I've always been suspicious of her, and now I'm even more so!' Maribelle said, looking out the front of the carriage towards where the ebon-haired girl in question rode in front of them. Lucina, as Marth was actually called, had the same birth mark in her eye as the baby princess waiting back at the palace. She also had a carbon copies of her father's weapons, his stubbornness, his fighting style, and the face of her mother. Gaius brought this evidence up.

'I didn't think soldiers could rise from the dead either, but here we are, fightin' them nearly every day this week.' He said.

Henry joined the conversation. 'I saw a man turn into a raven once. I knew a woman who could see into the future. I think with enough study, even time travel could be possible.'

At the front of the fleet, the Exalt and the Tactician were riding side by side, leaving Ser Fredrick Morley to the navigation.

Exalt Chrom IV was a fearless warrior, a just man of the people. He had a handsome face and a strong build, and was always attentive to his critics. Today he sat through his journey looking glum. His best friend Robin, rode alongside him, amused.

'So, the Queen is angry at you, not because she found out _Future You_ loses the war, not because you leave her for seven years to fight _Grima_ or whatever the legend is, _not_ because you die leaving her alone with three children, but because _Present You_ told a story from _the past_ wrong….?' She said.

'You've got it.' Chrom replied. 'I think she's just stressed. The last twenty-four hours have been very tough, what with everything we learned from Lucina. This is silly. We have so much else to deal with.'

'But you're only sulking about your Queen, aren't you?'

'I'm not sulking.' He grumbled.

Robin rode on, waiting for him to continue as she knew he would. In spite of endless discussion, and a tendency to get together to over-analyze things, their friendship had become quieter in recent years. It was now a series of comfortable silences and mocking expressions. She shot him a smug, knowing look now and again, and he often understood.

'I thought I told the story of how we metreally well _._ I talked about how pretty she was back then, how gifted a pegasai knight she was, how I proposed…I didn't miss anything out, I'm sure. I don't know what was wrong with the way I told it.' He continued, looking over to his best friend for advice. She thought for a moment.

'How gifted she _was_?' She asked, with extra emphasis on the past tense.

'Oh shit…' Chrom said. 'Thanks Robin.'

'Any-time my Exalt.' She saluted.

They continued to trek, the Exalt figuring out ways to make up with his queen without angering her further, and the tactician contemplating the weeks plan in her head. Fredrick was leading, and he'd said today's journey was around ten miles or so. There should be no threats from the enemy if they took a southward road, and they would be able to make a stop at a market for some upgraded weapons, and more food. Then there was the matter of rations- they had a new addition to the group, so some extra meals would be required, and room in the budget would have to be made. She needed to add Mr. Wootten and all of his information to her rostra, which would require Libra giving him a medical examination before she interviewed him. Then, it would be advisable to have Chrom and Lucina log everything they'd discussed about the future the night before. She should invite Libra to dinner also, as she rather liked the direction their relationship was going. She also needed to think about the doppleganger she'd seen – the one in the last fight who'd looked exactly like her- legend said this was an omen of death, yet who trusted myth and legend? It was coming true about the time travelling children- another thing to research. But then, if she wanted to get all these things done in the next twelve hours, that would leave only four and a half hours for sleeping, provided everything was done on the schedule she'd mapped out in her head, which did not leave a large margin for delays.

A crow landed beside her. Robin flinched, losing her train of thought.

It balanced on the reign of her horse, and looked up at her.

'Hello there?' She asked, reaching out slowly to touch it. It cowered, but did not move.

'Made a friend, Robin?' Chrom asked.

'It seems I have.'

The crow, on closer inspection, was quite beautiful. It was a smooth formation of inky feathers that reflected blue in the midday sun. It nudged her hand with a twig, which she took from it. She thanked it, and it flew away. She and Chrom shared a glance.

'That was weird.' She twirled the twig between her thumb and forefinger.

'I don't know…' He said. 'There are weirder things happening around here lately.'

Twenty minutes later, two more crows appeared. One sat at the reign, the other perched gently on her arm. One gave her a tuft of fur, the other had a stalk of wheat. She thanked them both.

Within the hour, Chrom couldn't contain his laughter at the sight of Robin riding along beside him with seven crows perching on her and her horse, and a raven sitting on her shoulder. She didn't seem to mind their company.

'I wish someone would paint a picture of this.' He snickered.

Later in the week, the Shepherds visited a market-town. It was restless, and people were easily lost amongst the colour and noise. It was difficult to keep together, so Robin walked arm in arm with Libra through the high street. Libra Willoughby, war-monk, cleric to the shepherds, and devotee of the goddess Naga, was watching the lady beside him carefully. He was sure that he was now of marrying age, and that his ambition of building an orphanage for the children of this war-torn land would be nothing without a wife and children of his own. Robin was the only one he pictured beside him in that ambition. She had the right mixture of compassion and severity, and he was sure he could make a believer of her yet. He did not like to think about it, but he couldn't deny that her figure stirred a reaction in him that no-other had before. The monks had spoken of it a few times, but had always taught restraint. Such passions, they said, only led to harm if they were not controlled. He was sure that wanting to be so near this woman, admiring both her body and mind was a sign from the gods that she was his intended.

Though they had been courting for a few weeks now, Libra realized he hadn't yet expressed those passions. He'd held her hand, she'd embraced him, but it wasn't enough anymore.

'Robin…' He cleared his throat. 'Would you-'

'Oh gods, look!' She squealed, tugging him along to a book market. He didn't like it when she interrupted him, or blasphemed, or ran off so haphazardly. He hoped that side of her would sedate with marriage.

Robin hadn't seen so many books in one place before. She learned from the merchant that this town was renowned for having one of the first printing presses, and had made a success of a few famous authors, including one great scholar who'd written a book about successful ruling and war strategy.

Once she'd finished talking to the merchant and began browsing the books, Libra approached her again. When she did not listen, he took the book from her hand and tossed it aside. She glared at him, but he ignored it, beginning again with what he had wanted to say.

'Robin. Please may we go somewhere more…private…?'

She agreed, and they stood around the corner of a nearby building. Libra made his proposition, his face glowing.

'That is, of course, if you don't want to, then I completely understand, but if you would indulge me you would make me very happy-' He was saying. Robin smiled.

'Of course, Libra. I have been waiting for a while too.' She said, placing her hands on his chest and leaning in to kiss him softly.

They were interrupted by flapping wings brushing both of their faces. A small crow had perched on Robin's shoulder.

'Oh!' She exclaimed. It offered her a tiny branch with red berries growing on it. She took it, thanked the bird, and put it in her pocket. When it flew off, she leaned back into Libra, who drew away, curious.

'Robin?' He asked. 'I didn't know you had a bird.'

'I don't.' She said. 'They've been following me all week. Haven't you noticed?'

'No.' Libra clenched his jaw. He'd been too pre-occupied with her to notice much this week. 'I suppose I hadn't. Don't they belong to Henry Wootten?'

'Yeah. I asked him about it. He says he doesn't know why they like me, but I shouldn't be at all worried! He says that if I take their gifts I might be able to get them to send messages and such.'

'Since when were you friends with Henry Wootten?' He asked.

'Since I had to stop him summoning Risen on _purpose_.' She replied. 'He's…useful. For some reason he enjoys doing chores.' She smiled devilishly. 'And I'm never going to stop anyone from doing my chores for me.'

Libra's face relaxed, and he reached up to stroke Robin's. 'You are a master of tactic both on and off the battlefield, my lady. You work so hard. I suppose you could use an assistant. But remember that I will always be here to help you also.'

'You are very kind Libra! But you have so much else to do as our lead cleric. Now,' She leaned in. 'I believe we were doing something quite interesting before we were interrupted—'

Libra kissed her quickly, then pushed her away from him, only keeping her hand. Robin bit her cheek, miffed.

'I'm glad you were enjoying my company, Robin. Yet…It is probably best we don't…linger too long. At least, not until were…' He always chose his words carefully. '… very sure of each other. I shall take you back to the bookshop. The two of us standing here alone is already quite improper-'

'Improper?'

'I am a man of the Gods, Robin.' He said. She stayed silent, until he drew her close again. 'And you…are something of a temptress.'

She laughed. 'Alright, you've made your case. Take me back to the bookshop.'

'Of course.' He took her arm and they wandered, leaving their secret liaison in that desolate road for now, returning to the crowded marketplace. The little crow hopped behind them.

R&R

xxx


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Fire Emblem._**

 **5.**

'I don't know how they can go on like this.' Mirabelle huffed, shovelling her food into her mouth in a way that was quite ungainly. She didn't seem to care. 'Just sitting there, the four of them, like nothing is wrong.'

'Maybe it's better that they do.' Gaius said, looking over to the group his wife was glaring at.

The legends about children coming from the future to guide their younger parents were a favorite of the storytellers in Ylisse. It had been said that parents could sometimes see their children in a dream, or in a spirit form. There was once a village maiden who had a fight with her lover, and told him to leave her forever. As he did, she saw her own son waving goodbye to her, walking away with the man. She then knew that they were meant to be, and ran after him.

Chrom, Exalt of Ylisse, captain of The Shepherds, and his wife Sumia, had found their future daughter first. Her name was Lucina, and she claimed to have returned to change the outcome of the war. Not many of The Shepherds had truly believed it- until children of their own began to return. Second came Noire – the daughter of Fredrick and Tharja. That had revealed much about the nature of their relationship- where they had been sneaking off to at night, much to their embarrassment and the hilarity of the army. Gaius and Maribelle had a shock when their son, Brady, was found. He was a perfect mixture of the two of them- callous, underhanded, yet unswervingly polite.

Despite all the mysterious events that had surrounded Robin's life so far, despite the general belief that the stories of child-spirits and time travel were now true- she had not anticipated meeting a boy on the battlefield who claimed he was her son.

The children were hardly children- they had grown up, and most were the same age as the parents they'd come to find. Only a few sought to change the world- others, like this boy, had not realized they'd been caught between the cracks of time and ended up in another era. This boy's name was Morgan. A fine name, Robin had thought, becoming aware that she might have actually picked it. He was a sweet young man, and told her he aspired to be a tactician just like her. They'd spent hours together studying. Once both his parents had met their deaths at war, he'd joined the army. After a blow to the head, he woke in a deserted field with no memories, except of his lessons in strategy, taught by his mother. He'd been travelling for weeks alone looking for her, slowly remembering his old life.

Morgan was not Libra's son. When they'd walked him into the camp, Robin had introduced him around before hiding him into her own tent, terrified they would all catch on too quickly. They did.

'Look at that boy. White hair, a beaky nose, playing with those ravens. Libra is _not_ an idiot.' Mirabelle said. She was frustrated on his behalf.

'Why do you care? Let them get on with it. They'll have to talk about it at some point.' Gaius said into his bowl of honeyed porridge.

'While the rest of us have to sit here, taking orders from that silly bitch about confronting our enemies when she can't even confront a problem that is _plain in front of her?'_

'You know, Mirabelle, I have a theory.' Lissa said, 'I've been re-reading all the old legends about time-travel and its potential paradoxes. I believe that Morgan could be from a different timeline to the one Brady, Noire and Lucina are from.'

'Interesting.' Tharja sat down beside them. She'd already been listening for awhile now, and made herself known. 'There are a thousand different Robins then? All in different worlds? A thousand Tharjas…?'

'Scary thought.' Gaius interjected.

'You see, I was thinking. We think Robin might have been a Plegian noble, and is a little younger than Henry. I believe, with his knack for killing in battle, he would have made lieutenant or higher in the army at the same time she would have been a debutant. In that timeline, she never loses her memory, she never meets Chrom, she never joins us and she never meets Libra. In that timeline, we are her enemy. Provided no-one else asked for her hand first, she would have met Henry at some point or another in the Plegian court.' Lissa explained.

The three surrounding her were silent, and glanced over to where Robin was laughing about something her son was saying. They looked back at the princess.

'That's… actually quite plausible, Lissa.' Mirabelle said, taking a sip of tea. 'Given that we don't know all the facts of time-travel.'

'Always the tone of surprise. I do read, you know.'

'The only problem with your theory, is that you believe too much in the strength of Robin and Libra's relationship in this time-line.'

'What's wrong with that?'

'You don't think then, that Morgan's arrival changes things? That Henry meant to meet us exactly when he did? That Robin won't change her mind?'

Lissa considered it. '…what about you and Gaius then? And Brady? You don't think, under different circumstances, you might not have met?'

'I believe fate has a funny way of forcing things. I mean _really_ , what are the odds a noblewoman falls for the cretin who tried to frame her father?'

Gaius frowned. 'Hey- I could have won you over any day.'

'Yes, that's what I'm saying you moron ! This- you and I- is fated – to -be !'

Lissa giggled as the two of them bickered about their own happiness. She then drifted, their conversation faded. She thought about the things she had read and then realized what her best friend's argument really meant. She looked up slowly to her, and waited until they had finished talking.

'What is it, Lissa?' Mirabelle asked.

'You're saying that there's no way to change fate? That…you don't think we have a chance to change the outcome of this war? You're… without hope?' She asked, her shoulders faltering. Mirabelle was quiet, and gave her a long, apologetic look.

'I'm sorry. I'm not always sure.' She admitted. 'Perhaps it makes me feel better to think I am prepared for the worst.' Lissa watched as Mirabelle clutched Gaius' hand on top of the table. All four of them- Thajra had still listened intently- then sat in silence, not wanting to meet eyes.

'One thing _I'm_ sure of,' Gaius said, trying to loosen the mood again. 'the situation is _torturing_ Libra. And you just know Henry is enjoying that.'

'Good.' His wife muttered, her eyes narrowed behind her teacup. 'Both of them are horrendously bad matches for Robin anyway.'

'Mirabelle!' Lissa gasped. 'You don't know that !'

'Oh come on. Everyone knows Libra Willoughby wants a wife like I want a nice parasol. Robin is a fine accessory for a priest if she stays at home and does as he says, which she ultimately won't- I'll see to that.' She took another sip. 'And Henry Wootten? Well. May the Gods have mercy on the woman _he_ decides to marry.'

'Jeez, what the hell is in your tea this morning?' Gaius took the cup from his wife and pretended to inspect it. The three of them laughed together, teeth showing, faces wrinkling.

Tharja got up, and began to wander off, as she often did when she wasn't included. Before she hid from sight once more, she looked directly at the two men across the room, sitting beside their wife and her son.

'It doesn't matter what Robin's decision is. Those two will fight, and it will be quite the spectacle.' She warned, and disappeared out of the tent, putting the others back into an uncomfortable silence.

Brady Middlestone was an excellent musician, and an emotional man. On a daily basis he tended to bemelancholy and defensive. He read the mood of his audiences, and every room he entered. He tended to absorb the general vibe of an atmosphere and then project it outwards from himself. The Shepherds, the battalion of fearsome warriors that surrounded him, were not always as joyful as they pretended to be. Weeks of walking, fighting and watching blood be shed affected each of them. Though they were used to it, their limbs became weary and their eyes sore. They did not dance as much as they used to, and as the winter-time persisted, it battered them. A slight virus ran through the camp, meaning echoes of coughing and sneezing could always be heard; people went to bed earlier, not as sociable as they were when they had begun their journey. Brady's consumption of this atmosphere, partnered with his talents in music, was as beautiful as it was dangerous.

That evening, as Henry organized the paper work that sprawled across Robin's desk, he heard Brady begin to play a complicated solo on the violin. It was repetitive, nagging, desperate. With each movement it grew a little more complex, changing keys, adding more notes. Then, when he'd finished that, he gave it a chorus that slowed the piece down. It seemed more like a plea than anything else. Perhaps Gaius should talk to his son more. The boy was playing a soundtrack to every thought that fogged Henry's mind, and, like the continual beating against his head, the notes didn't stop.

Morgan was the traveler he'd met in the village tavern a few weeks ago. They'd laughed about it and became good friends. He knew so much about strategy, and a little bit about the Risen already. He was so interested in all the limbs and organs that Henry showed him. He had a bug collection, and enjoyed poking pins in the dead ones, making them into artwork. The ravens and crows seemed to like him, and he enjoyed playing with them. He had a skeptical, healthy mind and a natural curiosity that would only be satiated by doing, not just thinking.

The crows had not stopped bothering Robin. Every day they gave her an average of eight gifts, and she thanked every single one of them. She did not seem to mind, and kept the collection of things in a carved box with drawers that she'd brought at one of the markets they'd passed through. Henry brushed his fingers across it. It was ornate, and the things inside it simple. It sat on her desk, at the center.

He'd been doing things for her weekly, and their friendship seemed shallow. They would only talk about his research, her strategy, her lack of organization and the scenery. They would only talk when they came across each other. He was being used by her to get mundane things done, and in exchange she gave him the contact with her that he had craved since the day they'd met. Every night he lay awake wondering what he'd done to get himself into this hell.

He did not like it when things were beyond his control.

He could be picking apart some muscle tissue right now were he not here shuffling papers.

He looked up from the desk and felt his face twitch involuntarily as he came face to face with a picture of Libra. It was a good likeness- a serious face, a mask to contain all matters of the Grade A bastard that shouldered within. He followed Robin around like a sick dog, and attempted to leash her. Beside the picture that was pinned to the tent wall, beside the box on the desk, was a candlelit shrine to Naga. The priest was trying to indoctrinate his wife to be. Henry knew Lissa had given her book of Ylissan legends to Robin, he'd put it in alphabetical order with the other books last week. If she had actually read it, she would know that Naga was a mythological being, but not a god.

There was no god but death.

As he thought this, the portrait of Libra caught fire.

'Shit!' Henry hissed, grabbing a bottle of open tonic nearby and throwing it at the wall. Once the flames were out, he leant over to grab the paper and began an incantation.

Reparation spells were difficult if you had no attachment to the item in question. He could reverse the burns, but the artwork was still smudged and torn from the tonic, and his haste in handling it. He wasn't sure he cared enough to fix it entirely, and pinned it back to the tent wall, a little lower than it had been, using the desk to cover up the blackened canvas.

'I think its sweet ! There's nothing wrong with it.' He heard Robin's voice outside, and began re-organizing papers in a panic.

'Are you sure? Are you sure it's not a hex? Are you sure ?' Libra could be heard saying. 'I worry about you.'

'You're paranoid Libra. The crows are friendly. Maybe if you ever got near one you'd know.'

Henry slowed down in his rearranging of the documents. He couldn't help smirking to himself.

There was a shuffling sound outside.

'Let me go.' He heard Robin whimper.

Henry's smile turned to a grimace. He wasn't sure whether or not to go outside.

'I just want to know you're alright. You're not angry.' Libra said.

'I'm—' Robin took a moment to suppress a yell, and got better control of her voice mid-way through her sentences. 'I'm not angry. I'm sorry I worry you. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?'

Silence followed by a breath followed by a letting go of hands and then Libra could almost be heard thinking, calculating how he were to phrase his demands.

'Less birds. The truth is…they make you… a little unapproachable at times, and... the wife of a clergyman shouldn't be unapproachable. She should be friendly. And a good listener. Which you are ! Just… the crows.'

Henry let out a long exhale and unclenched his fingers from the paper he was crinkling. He put it on the desk, then balanced himself against it, listening.

'Alright. You've made your point.' She sighed.

'You can keep one or two if Henry lets you. I- I know you like them. Sorry.'

Henry felt an angry heat pummel his own heart. He kept still and focused on keeping the feeling submerged as to not set anything else on fire. He heard the ravens and the crows, their tiny feet tip-tap-ing on the roof, mirroring his own agitation, ready to peck out the eyes of his rival if he so chose. Restraint rendered him unable to move and took all his attention, so he did not notice when Robin entered her tent.

'Henry. I didn't know you were in here.'

He nearly clawed the edge of her desk into bits.

'Robin!' He was pleased to see she had come alone. She looked weary, eyes rimmed both red and purple, nose flushed and chest heaving. She had not been exempt from the virus.

'Why are you here?'

'I was organizing your paperwork, as you asked, and delivered a map of Valm from the Captain.'

She walked by sliding her feet across the thick rugs that covered the floor of her tent. Once she'd taken off her boots, she lit a few more candles, rolling her toes to scratch up the carpet fibers. She fumbled with lighting the match. She was weak, tired. Hanging by her hinges. She could not strike a light.

'Allow me, my lady.' Henry offered, taking the box from her red fingers. 'You should go to bed. You look awful!'

She smiled.

'I know.'

He lit the candles for her. As he held the match to one, four others around it also became lit. He knew she was hovering behind him, watching this.

'You should go to bed.' He repeated. 'But knowing you, you'll stay up all night reading anyway. Am I right?'

'Tharja ! Will you just come back here, please?' Fredrick's voice was heard just outside the tent, despite his whispers. 'You shouldn't be doing this. It's not safe out there alone.'

'I know. That's why I have to go find Robin before anything happens to her.'

Robin looked at Henry, confusion flickering across her face.

'It's okay.' He explained. 'I cast you a plane altering hex for privacy. Tharja can't sense where you are so much anymore and she always wanders into the woods looking for you. She can be kind of an airhead sometimes. She'll figure it out in about a week though.'

In truth it was not only Tharja. Robin seemed to draw certain Risen and magical enemies to her. Henry knew this. His hex had cut down their battle encounters by half.

Robin shook her head, mildly amused. She wandered toward the desk to survey his organization. She was mid-way through thanking him when she took notice of the shrine to Naga.

'How much of my conversation with Libra did you hear?' Robin, though manipulated by the sweetness of her priest, though a servant to the good-nature and strength of her Exalt, was unlikely to believe any of Henry's lies and he knew this.

'Tell me the truth.'

He went to light the candles at the desk, one at a time this time, still not saying a word. He would do as she said, always, but did not wish to have this conversation. He felt her presence behind him and spun, only to find she was very close, about to touch his back.

'I don't want to give up the crows. I like them. Very much. But I suppose, Libra doesn't. I can't have him and them too.' She said, looking at her bare feet.

'You could. I'd let you keep one or two. I'd tell them, if they wanted to give you gifts, not to do it when he is around. The ravens are the most intelligent. They'd listen. I think they're the most intelligent birds of all, you know.'

'Really? I think so too. They always bring me useful things, like paper and quills. The crows…not so useful. But sweet.' She did not look at Henry. She was fixated on the ground and had folded her arms up, cradling herself. When she did eventually raise her head, though her features were still rudy, she no longer looked tired. She looked as if she were devising something.

'Yes. Your birds are so very kind to me. Very much like the man who commands them.' She took a step so that they were now toe-to-toe. She was squaring up, looking straight up into Henry's face, her arms now by her side, her Plegian cloak hanging looser. He felt all his defenses dissolve into dust as his own fingers dropped the matches involuntarily, and brushed her own, making their way up her arms until they curled gently around her shoulders and pulled her closer.

'They've been telling me to look at you since the day we met.' He told her, studying her smooth face. He brushed her cheek with the very tips of his fingers.

'Then look at me.' She replied quietly.

Henry knew he should not kiss her, but he did it anyway.

He was irritated at his own idleness. He meant to explain the new map to Robin and then bid her goodnight once she had entered the tent. He meant to be writing up more notes on risen sigils and returning to the most recent battle-ground where he'd found one carved into a stone nearby which meant the most recent enemy they had fought were a more freshly-made, freshly-fleshly-risen.

Robin's lips were soft. She was a very good kisser. She was passionate. Her pulse was quicker than his.

He'd meant to hack up corpses for further study. He had not intended to dally so long in Robin's tent these last few months but neither had he planned to have a son. He'd been somewhere between cursing and thanking the gods that may-or-may-not be internally since the day he'd met Morgan.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and he slid his down to her waist, closing the gap between them. His blood began to speed up around his arteries.

So many things he had surrounded himself with were irrational- time travel, hexes, risen, sigils, jealousy. The irony in studying dark sorcery was while it gave the user more control over any substance, from water to fire, even blood- the user often lost control of their mind, their imagination, their emotions, their senses.

Her tongue slipped across his lower lip and he reciprocated by nibbling hers. If he hadn't lost his mind yet, he felt this would be the point where it happened. Kissing made all thought numb. When they parted to breathe, Robin pushed him back at arm's length.

'This- This isn't right. This is improper.' She said.

Henry decided he had two choices; leave the tent and return to his research in solitude, or stay and kiss Robin again. He chose the latter, for a second wondering if his actions were in his own control, or were a product of lust or prophecy, and whether or not they were rational due to those factors.

'I don't care.' He said aloud, answering his own questions and Robin's statement. She let out one surprised giggle at his response and reached up to kiss him again.

This time it was gentle, and lasted longer. Her hands weaving in his hair extinguished his restless mind and her touch burned his skin. This embrace cleared his clouded head, and was more addictive than all the poppies and all the smoking-pipes he'd ever made. The crows and ravens left the roof of the tent and went to settle in the trees for the night. Neither noticed.

Reviews appreciated, Follows/Faves more so!

xx


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